


From a Certain Point of View

by the-reylo-void (Anysia)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Breast Worship, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mutual Pining, Rey is Thirsty(tm), Space Virgins in Love, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anysia/pseuds/the-reylo-void
Summary: “There is no part of you that isn’t transcendent and perfect. Including your breasts.”It’s hard to feel self-conscious when the leader of the galaxy wants to be on his knees for you.





	From a Certain Point of View

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the product of two things: 1) the line of dialogue in the summary, and 2) my acknowledgement of my terrible, terrible smut skills and wanting to practice a bit. This isn't super smutty but is hopefully hot enough to hold your interest. Thank you for reading! :)

The hardest part about joining the Resistance isn’t the structure, or the overwhelming odds against them, or even the heavy moral imperative of bearing the last vestiges of light in the galaxy.

 

It is, ironically enough given the decimation of their forces after D'Qar and Crait, the omnipresence of people.

 

More specifically, women people.

 

There’s a sense of easy camaraderie among those who remain, and Rose and Kaydel and Jessika seamlessly incorporate Rey into their ranks, include her in post-briefing lunches, share gossip and hopes, ask her in soft, reverent tones about her training with Luke Skywalker.

 

Rey can only offer a terse smile in response. “It wasn’t much,” she murmurs one evening, when she and Rose are repairing a faulty power coupling on the Falcon, the mechanic’s eyes wide with stars. “Really.”

 

“But a _Jedi Master._ He must have taught you so much.”

 

“He…” Rey pauses, worries her lip between her teeth.

 

It’s complicated in a way she can’t begin to describe.

 

Luke’s legacy has become the spark that has kindled the fire of the Resistance from the ashes left smoldering after Crait. His last stand has spurred the galaxy back to the fight, and already varied worlds from the Outer Rim who have heard of his heroics have pledged their support.

 

But…

 

“He was a hero,” Rose says, smiles at her. “Right?”

 

Rey returns the smile noncommittally, busies herself with repairing a frayed wire.

 

She thinks of a lit green saber poised to strike a frightened boy.

 

Thinks of a large hand warm in hers, her back pressed to a much broader one, staring down a phalanx of guards together.

 

She’s not sure what a hero is anymore.

 

* * *

 

Baths are the hardest.

 

It’s a strange thing, really. Rey had never been the self-conscious sort on Jakku. Water was far too scarce, privacy a luxury few could afford, least of all she. Baths were cold, perfunctory, and rare.

 

But the Resistance’s frantic planet-hopping finds them on a distant world with deep hot springs, and Rey finds herself in a warm pool, all fragrant steam and mossy rock, the lone terrified member of a corps of a dozen utterly unconcerned naked women.

 

She ducks her head, submerges herself in the water up to her neck, and tries not to stare.

 

The girls are laughing, an easy thing, telling bawdy stories about this pilot or that trader, and even when the conversation turns serious, to the arms merchants with whom Leia and Poe had planned a rendezvous for the evening, there’s a sense of ease, of contentment.

 

Rey watches them, her back pressed up against rough, cool rock. They’re all so… _pretty_ , somehow. Unburdened. Free.

 

Rose is all soft curves and a gentle smile, contrasting Jessika’s coltish legs and lean frame. They’re all unblemished and unscarred, healthy, well-fed, bodies carrying a lighter narrative of life than starvation and scavenging on Jakku.

 

Beneath the water, Rey skims one hand over her ribs, feels the way she can still count them too easily, each one catching beneath her palm.

 

She reaches the underside of one small breast just as the conversation turns to the most attractive remaining members of the Resistance (Poe features heavily, particularly after a sharp look from Rose shoots down any discussion of Finn), and she moves her hand away as if burned, ducks more deeply into the water and hope no one notices her flush as they talk frankly of sex.

 

She imagines they’re experienced with that as well.

 

Not like her.

 

 _You could have been_ , some small part of her brain thinks. _It would have happened sometime if…_

 

 _Yes,_ Rey thinks with a scowl, yes, if she’d stayed on Jakku, if she’d let herself stay any longer and wasted away to the point that she would have considered bartering with skin traders, the way she…

 

_…ah, no._

 

A face in her mind, one she’s tried desperately to forget over the last six months.

 

 _If you’d said yes_ , the dark part of her mind thinks, sends her phantom images of dark, longing eyes and bare fingertips against her own.

 

_If you’d stayed._

 

Her blood runs cold.

 

* * *

 

Rey excuses herself hastily, ignoring the worried cries from behind her as she wraps herself in an oversized towel and races for her quarters on the Falcon.

 

It’s quiet. Chewie is assisting Leia. The girls are still relaxing at the pools.

 

It’s just her.

 

Like always, somehow.

 

Rey makes her way to the ‘fresher, stares at herself in the large mirror above the sink and slowly lets the towel fall away.

 

She’s gained weight and muscle since Jakku, she knows. There’s strength in her limbs, a rosy flush to her skin, healthy and hale from regular meals and comparative stability.

 

The ribs are still a problem, Rey thinks, notches her thumb along the right side of her torso. Too skinny.

 

Her skin is littered with scars from too many days spent diving through the innards of rusted starships: a long slice from a piece of broken transparisteel curving over her left thigh, a splotched burn along her right wrist from where she’d connected with a sheet of sun-baked durasteel.

 

And _here_ … She bites her lip and slowly cups one small breast, barely even half a handful, soft and nearly weightless against her palm.

 

By the Force, Ben had more to _him_ the one time she’d seen him, and she pauses at the memory, instinctively squeezes her breast, just a little.

 

She gasps in the back of her throat at the contact, the way her nipple puckers against her palm.

 

But her hands are so small, not like…

 

 _Stop_ , her mind cautions, and Rey grimaces, shakes her head.

 

He’s a non-entity, a faded, unpleasant memory.

 

She squeezes again, tries to imagine someone faceless as a jolt of pleasure spikes through her, down to her toes. It fades as she imagines her shadowy suitor gazing down at her with a frown, pressing his fingers into sharp bone, ghosting hands over flat planes, and turning instead to one of the girls from the pools, buxom, untroubled, smiling and pretty and…

 

Rey’s fist crashes hard against the mirror as a guttural scream dies deep in her chest.

 

It’s not her fault she doesn’t look like the girls in holos with their generous breasts and soft smiles, like the girls down at the pools with their easy curves and light conversation, she thinks fiercely. It’s not her _fault_ that she’d had to fight for everything she had, that her body was proof of a life hard-lived, that she couldn’t be soft and pretty and have everything be so _easy_ …

 

There’s darkness thrumming in her blood, prickling along her skin, and she doesn’t care.

 

She wishes the damn thing had broken.

 

“…bad timing, I see. Do you have something you can put on?”

 

Rey jumps and screeches, Force-pushing a nearby cabinet with all her might, eyes narrowed at the tall figure opposite her who easily evades it, along with the varied contents of the room she sends his way in rapid succession.

 

After a few short moments of frenzied Force-use, the bathroom is in total disarray, and Rey is breathing hard, shoulders heaving in exertion, hair curling damp around her shoulders.

 

Kylo is staring at her, and her eyes widen at the deep flush across his cheeks, the way his gaze is fixed studiously on a point just past her shoulder.

 

“Why are you _here_?” she spits at him. Her teeth are bared, and she instinctively moves into a fighting stance even with her saber on the other side of the ship.

 

Kylo’s dark eyes flit to hers, and she can see him swallow as his gaze dips down to her naked body, just a cursory skim. “And keep your eyes on mine!”

 

“You know I have no control over this,” he says after a moment. “I imagine you don’t, either. This is an artless seduction. Even for you.”

 

“Oh sod _off_.” She’s scrambling for the towel now, wraps it tightly around herself and ignores his stare as it follows her. Force, he’s seen her _naked._ Not just that, but her vulnerability in it, the faltering inventory she’d taken and found sorely lacking.

 

She can feel Ben ( _Kylo_ , damn him) watching her, his gaze lingering on the hand she clutches at the front of her towel, and she glares at him, knows he’s seen that same hand gently cupping her breast, feeling, _touching_ …

 

“…your thoughts,” he finally murmurs, takes a step forward even as she glares and moves back. “They’re… loud.”

 

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t listen.” Oh, she’s angry at him, for catching her off-guard, for seeing her in a moment of weakness, for staying away for six months only to…

 

“You don’t really believe them, do you? Your thoughts. Earlier.” He’s tilting his head in the way he had when he’d interrogated her, the way he had when she’d told him she knew everything about him. It’s a curious tilt, and she can feel him gently prodding, the way he seems to part her consciousness and stroke with tentative fingers.

 

Rey closes her mind to him with a firm snap, and she hopes it hurts him.

 

“You compare yourself to other girls,” he says, and she closes her eyes and grits her teeth.

 

He’s already seen too much.

 

“And you’re _ashamed_.” His voice is full of wonder, disbelief, something else she can’t quite place. “Rey.”

 

Her back is against cool tile, and she can feel him in front of her, can feel the heat of his hand hovering above her shoulder, not quite touching.

 

She doesn’t want to open her eyes.

 

“There is no part of you that isn’t transcendent and perfect,” Kylo says, his voice familiarly low and soft. “Including your breasts.”

 

Rey feels herself flush, and she knows he’s staring at her with dark, liquid eyes. He’s too close, on her, in her mind, _everywhere_. “You’re vile,” she says, but there’s no venom behind it, and her voice sounds weak to her own ears.

 

To her surprise, she feels him move back, feels cool air between them as he gives her space but doesn’t move fully away. “Close it,” he says gruffly after a moment. “The bond. I can’t.”

 

Rey opens her eyes, observes him quizzically as he’s half-turned from her. “…you don’t know how?”

 

“Not what I said.” His voice is rough, and she flushes harder.

 

There’s silence between them for a long moment, tense and heavy. Kylo’s cheeks are burning crimson, and he’s staring at the wall behind her, his gloved hands clenched into fists at his sides.

 

Rey’s eyes widen as she understands.

 

“You’re _embarrassed_.”

 

He whips his head back to face her, eyes dark and angry, and she feels a giddy thrill at it, knows she’s hit her mark. “You’ve never seen a girl before.” She can feel it as she skims through his consciousness, the way his thoughts snap at her like jagged teeth as she gets too close, but ah, _there_ … a pale boy with limbs too long for his growing body, swallowing hard and shifting uncomfortably as an illicit holo plays in front of him. “Not a real one. Not like this.”

 

Kylo is fuming, clenching and unclenching his fists, blushing even deeper, but he doesn’t push her out.

 

 _Show me…_ Rey thinks, dives just a bit deeper, lets the image of the holo sharpen and refine…

 

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of the girl in the holo, fully bared to him, all lithe, lean muscle, small and powerful, breasts not much bigger than hers. She’s prettier, with glossy lips and curling hair, dark bedroom eyes that seem almost liquid, but she’s slender and fair and somehow…

 

“She wasn’t prettier,” she hears Kylo say in a rough voice, and she eyes him quizzically even as she wills her heart to stop racing. “She wasn’t… Jedi can’t… but at the temple, the older boys, they would sometimes bring in…”

 

“Holos,” Rey murmurs. She watches Kylo swallow hard against the high neck of his tunic. “I watched them, too. On Jakku, when I could… when I found them, sometimes. In officers’ quarters on Star Destroyers. I was curious.”

 

She’s trembling as Kylo finally lays his hand against her shoulder, and she lets out a long breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as he flattens his fingers against the curve of it.

 

“What did you see?” he asks finally, smoothing his thumb along the side of her collarbone. _What did you imagine?_

 

Rey closes her eyes against a hard swallow. She can’t, _they_ can’t do this, not like this, not… not with _them_ …

 

But…

 

But would it be so bad, really?

 

Just here, in this moment, to pretend that someone found her beautiful? Just her, just Rey, with her bony limbs and her small breasts, her scarred skin?

 

To let herself be touched?

 

She could… she could pretend it was the strong, muscular men she’d watched on holos, all dark eyes and broad shoulders, making the women in their arms keen and cry. Easy. Anonymous.

 

And he could pretend it was the girl he’d admired as a boy, the one who…

 

 _Looked like you_ , a small part of her mind supplies without prompting. _Before he knew you_.

 

She could…

 

“Gloves off,” Rey whispers.

 

She can feel Kylo still against her, feel the questioning glance he gives her.

 

_I can’t pretend it’s not you if you keep them on. I can’t pretend that anyone else would ever touch me with…_

 

He half flinches from her, and there’s something sad and hurt in his eyes, but the apology that springs to her lips dies as he shakes his head, takes the finger of one glove between his teeth and carelessly removes it, followed by the other. “Anything else?” he asks, and it’s that gentle voice again, the one that he seems to use only with her, the one she holds secret and warm within her chest.

 

She closes her eyes and fights to urge to say his name.

 

The real one.

 

“…I’m keeping my eyes closed,” she says finally. “I can’t…”

 

_I can’t know it’s you. Not when I can’t…_

 

She jolts, nearly cracking her head against the tiled wall behind her as Kylo pushes her gently up against it, and her breath catches at the feel of his bare hands, large and warm, smoothing over her shoulders, his thumbs mapping the hard ridge of her collarbone. She’s missed this, being skin-to-skin with someone else… being with…

 

“Anything else,” he says again, ducks his head so that the words ghost along her temple, fingers trailing along the edge of her towel, and his voice, his presence, his _everything_ is so Ben that she aches.

 

“…touch me,” she says, and her voice breaks on the words.

 

Her breath catches high in her throat as Kylo peels the towel away, baring her to the waist, and she feels her nipples pebble in the cool air.

 

She’s shaking.

 

“Steady,” Rey hears him murmur, and she closes her eyes tighter as his lips press against her temple and one unsteady hand cups her left breast, thumb stroking tentatively over the puckered nipple. “Good.”

 

“You’ve… never done this,” Rey manages, struggling to breathe as his hands spread warm and wide across her small breasts, cupping, massaging.

 

Kylo doesn’t answer, and she can hear his own breath coming heavy and short as he squeezes the full weight of her breasts in his hands, gently scrapes the tips of her nipples with his thumbnails, and she _keens._

 

“…tell me what to do,” she hears, and she can feel the rumble through his chest.

 

“I…” Rey isn’t sure she can blush harder as she slips her hands beneath his, shows him the way she pinches and rolls the stiff peaks, the way she kneads the soft flesh between her fingers. It’s increasingly difficult to keep her eyes closed as she pulls her hands away, lets them fall against the tile with a hard smack as Kylo takes over, pinching her nipples just hard enough to hurt before smoothing away the bite with his thumbs. His hands are so large, and the warmth of his palm as he cradles her breast is the most magnificent thing she’s ever felt.

 

Her eyes fly open as Kylo suddenly falls to his knees, hesitating for a half a heartbeat before placing a hard, lingering kiss against her breastbone, and she freezes before quickly shutting her eyes again.

 

“Is this…” he starts, and she shushes him, threads her hands through his hair (soft, so soft against her fingers, and she knew it would be, somehow).

 

“Don’t talk,” she manages. “Just… just…”

 

Kylo presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her breast, and Rey knows it’s coming but she still arches sharply into him as those plush lips circle her nipple and suck, _hard,_ his wicked tongue laving wetly across the tip, and she’s not sure whether to scream or cry.

 

His hands are still on her, caressing and kneading whichever breast isn’t currently in the heat of his mouth, and Rey’s legs feel unsteady beneath her as she tries desperately to squeeze her thighs together. She can feel it, that rising _something_ that she’d tried and failed to understand or slake during cold nights on Jakku, and she wriggles helplessly, tugs at Kylo’s hair as he sucks harder at her reddened nipples.

 

She’s almost panting, not caring as he pushes the towel fully away from her body, gooseflesh rising along her skin as he takes her hand in his, far more gently than she would have imagined, and slots it between her legs before returning to her breasts.

 

Rey hesitates as her fingertips slide against the wet heat at the juncture of her thighs. She’s… done this, yes, but just out of curiosity, just once or twice.

 

And never with…

 

 _Please_. She hears it, feels it, desperate and yearning.

 

Every inch her Ben.

 

She feels hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she raises one hand to cover his warm and wide at her breast, takes his free hand with the other and brings their clasped hands back between her legs.

 

Kylo groans against her skin, and Rey clutches his hand as their fingers move together, parting her, catching, stroking. She’s breathing hard, overwhelmed by the feel of his lips, his hands, and she knows, down to her bones, that with this man, there is no thought of comparison. There is just _her_ , her small imperfect breasts worshipped by his mouth, her scarred skin kneaded with reverent hands, her hot little cunt yielding to his thrusting fingers as they slide into her and crook and delve and…

 

The world seems to slow. Her fingers match his stroke for her stroke, her thumb grazes her swollen clit, her breasts are reddened and swollen beneath his lips and tongue, and she can _feel_ it, all of his emotions and his _want_ bursting through the bond…

 

Rey comes on a broken sob, one hand clenched in his, his fingers buried in her cunt, his face buried between her breasts, his name burning against her tongue.

 

 _Beautiful girl,_ she hears through the bond, reverent, adoring. _Foolish girl. To think anyone could even begin to compare to you. In this. In anything._

 

Her eyes are open. When Kylo, when _Ben’s_ eyes meet them, she doesn’t look away.

 

* * *

 

He presses soothing kisses to her shoulder, her sternum, wrapping the towel back around her body, and she wants to melt into his arms, let him cradle her close in a way that frightens her.

 

“Are you… all right?” Rey glances to the tented front of his trousers, feels her blush return in full force.

 

“Nothing I can’t take care of. I do have a briefing to attend in an hour, but that’s more than enough time.” He strokes a hand through her hair, eyes shining dark. “Is it all right if I think of you?”

 

 _A briefing_. The First Order. The Supreme Leader. A jarring reminder of the reality that awaits them outside the bond.

 

Rey is cold, and she turns her cheek as Kylo dips to kiss her, feels him frown against her cheekbone.

 

“…you’re angry,” he murmurs, nudges at her cheek with his nose. “Why?”

 

 _Foolish girl,_ he’d called her, and Rey closes her eyes, wraps the towel more firmly around herself. And wasn’t she just, baring her body to the enemy, using him to please her, to sate her wounded pride?

 

And _this_ … to let Kylo Ren touch her, to slake his long-held thirst for a skinny-limbed girl on a holo from years ago?

 

_He called you beautiful. **You,** Rey._

 

“…we’re done,” she manages, and her voice sounds weak and rough with unshed tears. “Get out.”

 

Kylo eyes her quizzically, pulls back and retrieves his gloves. “You’re angry with yourself. For giving in.”

 

“Yes.” There, the hot slide of a tear down her cheek, and damn him, he’s seen them enough.

 

“Even though we both wanted it.”

 

“We shouldn’t have.” It feels even worse now, somehow, Rey thinks, ducking her head against the edge of the towel and pushing past him to the far side of the 'fresher. “I… was weak, I was thinking…”

 

“…I know what you were thinking.” Kylo’s eyes are dark, his bearing regal, and Rey knows that Ben is once again lost to her, for now. “I heard you. It’s garbage.”

 

“ _What_ is?” she bites at him, retrieving a large robe from a hook behind the 'fresher, desperate to put as much space between him and her bare skin as possible.

 

Kylo laughs, a short, dark thing, and Rey’s eyes widen at the sound of it. “Unbelievable. That you could be so willfully stupid.”

 

“Charming. Can’t imagine why this was your _first_ time touching a woman. And likely the last.” She’s preparing herself for the bond to close, steeling her spine, narrowing her eyes, and it’s easier, somehow, settling into familiar anger instead of…

 

Rey gasps as Kylo catches her wrist in one large hand, eyes boring down into hers. “You know the truth,” he says, voice low and gentle, at odds with the roughness of his touch. “You know what this was. And you can lie to yourself all you want. You can pretend this was about holos, or about using me. You can pretend I don’t find you attractive, that you’re not.”

 

“Any man would find a naked woman attractive,” Rey shoots back. “It’s just… it’s _sexual_ , that’s all it is.”

 

There’s a quirk of a smile on Kylo’s lips, and her heart skips a beat as his thumb brushes against the soft skin at the inside of her wrist. “One day,” he murmurs. “One day you’ll stop lying to yourself about how I feel about you. How much I want that skinny-ribbed girl you keep discounting, the one who moved to fight and attack before even thinking of her clothes.”

 

Rey closes her eyes and feels a tremor through her shoulders as Kylo kisses her forehead tenderly, much too tenderly. “Do you understand it, finally?” she hears him say, voice familiarly soft and gentle. “Foolish girl. My sweet warrior Rey. Do you finally understand just how beautiful you really are? _Why_ you are?”

 

She gasps at the feel of lips against hers, her eyes flying open.

 

But he’s gone.

 

The bond is closed, and Rey shivers, raises shaky fingers to trace along the edges of her lips, still tingling with the phantom imprint of an almost kiss.

 

“Rey!”

 

She jumps at the sound of Rose’s voice on the other side of the closed door, hastily ties the sash of the robe around her narrow waist as Rose bursts through, fully-dressed, eyes wide in concern. “Rose? What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Rey… I didn’t even realize you’d gone until just a few minutes ago, and I figured, God, you’re from the _desert_ , you’re probably not used to this, with _everyone_ , and I just… I didn’t want you to feel self-conscious about it, you know?” Rose is smiling at her, apologetic, and Rey manages a terse smile in response.

 

“Self-conscious,” Rey murmurs to herself.

 

Her gaze settles on her reflection in the mirror, the way her limbs seem just a little stronger, the way her breasts seem just a bit more pleasing, the way her bearing seems just a bit more powerful.

 

The way the memory of reverence and pleasure and a dark, adoring man on his knees before her seems to linger in the cool, damp air.

 

She smiles slowly.

 

“Actually,” she says, “I must say I suddenly feel rather beautiful.”


End file.
